


demonstrations of weakness

by mouthfulofmint



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cuddling, First touches, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pining, Post-Time Skip, atsumu is nervous of course he is, i just love skts and im touch starved dont look at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29320167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouthfulofmint/pseuds/mouthfulofmint
Summary: None were like Sakusa, who seemed to hate Atsumu’s guts, who had made him cry, who played volleyball like it was art, who kept to himself and always managed to slip away before anyone had the chance to reach him.Atsumu didn’t try to reach him, he didn’t know how he’d even begin to manage. He wasn’t equipped to make sense of Sakusa, of love, of beauty, of anything at all. The things in his box didn’t fit together to make something like that
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 135





	demonstrations of weakness

Atsumu had a hard time finding value in a few things. He didn’t feel the need to indulge himself in larger thoughts and feelings. He didn’t like concepts, he liked results. He liked to see them right before his eyes, tangible and objective. It made things easy.

Looking beyond his own surface was weird, it was messy and muddled. A lot of the time, Atsumu felt like a cardboard box, holding his memories and whatever junk had made its way in there over the years. As much as he’d joke, boast and borderline obsess about his appearance, he didn’t actually find anything special about it. Or rather, he knew he was physically attractive, but he wasn’t sure what it actually showed for. Pretty paint on cardboard was only pretty paint on cardboard after all.

It made him feel vacant sometimes, when he thought about it like that.

The rest of the time it worked fine, the way it worked throughout the many years before getting to know Sakusa, before Sakusa tricked him into thinking about things that weren’t supposed to have value, things that weren’t supposed to have a home in his cardboard box. 

Sakusa was just plain cold at first. He didn’t humor Atsumu like the others did, he didn’t talk to Atsumu unless he had to, and then sometimes he’d dig into him just a little too deep. One time in the beginning, (one time only) it had even made Atsumu cry, alone in the dark of his apartment after practice. No one knew about it. It was just an offhand bout of emotional frailty anyway.

And then on one of those first days, Sakusa effortlessly received one of his jump serves at full power and Atsumu had to stop to think _Oh. Oh, he’s beautiful._

It all happened quickly from there. 

People before him had been pretty, but Sakusa was beautiful. Atsumu had crushes, but none of them were like him, none had ever made him so unsure of himself, every move he made and everything he said. None were like Sakusa, who seemed to hate Atsumu’s guts, who had made him cry, who played volleyball like it was art, who kept to himself and always managed to slip away before anyone had the chance to reach him. 

Atsumu didn’t try to reach him, he didn’t know how he’d even begin to manage. He wasn’t equipped to make sense of Sakusa, of love, of beauty, of anything at all. The things in his box didn’t fit together to make something like that. He resigned himself to the obvious and easy, going over the chips in his paint, sometimes adding anew. 

It was after two years of restless pining and inner push and pull that after a long night out, Atsumu walked an uncharacteristically drunk Sakusa home as he clung to his shoulder. When they reached the door, Sakusa had tightened his grip on Atsumu’s shoulder before planting it right against the wood, crowding into his space and pushing his face down into Atsumu’s neck with a muffled _“Miya, you’re so stupid.”_

When he slipped into his apartment without another word, Atsumu hadn’t understood what he meant. He just stood there, painted entirely in red with his hand pressed to the door.

Atsumu still hadn’t understood when they shared one bed in their hotel room that had two. He still hadn’t understood when Sakusa held his hand and fell asleep on his shoulder during the wearisome bus ride back from losing an away game. He hadn’t understood until it had been made clear as day in simple words. 

_“I like you, Miya, and I know you like me too.”_

Three days later, the concept of beauty was on his mind again. Sakusa didn’t look at him like he was made of mere cardboard, not at all. Under Sakusa’s gaze, Atsumu was the closest to beautiful he would ever be. 

All the air had been sucked out of the room, his last breath sitting in wait, never to be returned once he let it out. but it didn’t matter, because he didn’t have to breathe. Everything he needed was right there, and if he could go on like that every moment for the rest of his life, he would. To be laid out under the eyes of the man who was for him, the definition of all things beautiful. 

When had he gone so soft?

Sakusa’s hand moved slowly from his own thigh up toward Atsumu, only hovering over the skin. But somehow it was close enough for Atsumu to feel, radiating through skin to muscle to bone, all the way to his core until finally, Sakusa touched him, his hand solid and warm as it stopped to rest just above Atsumu’s solar plexus. 

At last he released the air from his lungs, surrendering it to Sakusa along with every ounce of control he had to give up. 

There was another sigh, this time from Sakusa as he closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders, and Atsumu thought it was the most at ease he had ever looked, like he had been waiting for this, needing it, just as much as Atsumu had. Atsumu couldn’t close his eyes, he wouldn’t dare to. 

Slowly as before, the hand moved back down, tracing over the muscle of his abdomen with care. Everything Sakusa did seemed to be that way, laced with a sort of vigilance that would tire most anyone. But not him. For him, that vigilance was a way of showing his dedication for life. 

Atsumu wondered if his touch was a show of dedication too.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa muttered, his dark eyes flicking open as he locked onto Atsumu’s gaze. 

“Yeah?” Atsumu’s voice betrayed him, coming out hoarse yet obviously eager. His skin was hot, flushed from his face down to his shoulders. Sakusa’s mouth ticked up into something near a subconscious smile before he leaned down, his frame hovering over Atsumu, who shivered at the feeling of breath on his stomach. 

“Can I?” 

He nodded quickly with a hum of affirmation, reeling for the touch. 

Then Sakusa pressed a kiss below his belly button, brief and oh so soft, and by then, Atsumu didn’t know what breathing was. 

It was slow at first, as things with Sakusa so far seemed to be, with tentative kisses along the plane of his stomach accompanied by long pauses in between, as though each was carefully timed and positioned. It was slow until it wasn’t, becoming almost hungry the more confident and eager Sakusa grew, moving his way upward, occasionally trying out open mouthed kisses, licking at the skin so softly it was almost indistinguishable.

But Atsumu felt it, everything Sakusa did, and it was dizzying, it was too much. It went beyond anything he ever could have imagined, and it was just simple touch. But it was _Sakusa’s_ simple touch, and Atsumu’s head was clouded with it. With great effort, he kept still and quiet, reminding himself that making this easy for Sakusa was the most important thing. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he had to stop. 

But then he did stop, looking up at Atsumu with heavy eyelids. “You do have to breathe, right?” 

“O-oh,” Atsumu stuttered an inhale. 

“Are you okay?” Sakusa furrowed his brow and pursed his lips just like he always did, and it made Atsumu’s chest constrict, just like it always did. 

“Yeah. Omi, please…” 

He would usually have been embarrassed by the note of desperation his voice held, but not then, not when they both knew well enough how desperate Atsumu had really been. 

Sakusa settled again, this time dropping down to rest the side of his face on Atsumu’s chest that rose and fell quickly. Atsumu knew it was meant to give him a moment to get composure, but really, it just made it even more difficult to breathe when he knew his every heartbeat could be heard, _felt_ against Sakusa’s cheek. It sounded ridiculous, but there was a certain worry that he wouldn’t pass inspection, like getting checked with a stethoscope at the doctor. Except this doctor was Sakusa and instead of a stethoscope he was just laying down with his face pressed to Atsumu’s bare skin. In his bed.

They had never been this close, at least not for this long. Atsumu had always made it a point to be careful with his touches, to let his hand stop short when he reached out for Sakusa, no matter where they were or what the situation. And it was normal after two years of habit. He never even imagined that they would hug each other, he accepted that within a few months. Even when his thoughts screamed to him that it was what he wanted more than anything, he kept his distance and cherished Sakusa Kiyoomi from afar. 

But now, he was here, and if Atsumu asked, he would probably let him brush his hand through the perfect, dark curls that smelled like lemongrass shampoo and laid only inches from his face. 

Atsumu didn’t ask.

Sakusa hummed, dragging his hand up Atsumu’s side as slowly as ever, then back down again and repeating. All his life, Atsumu had been ticklish on his ribs, it was something people close to him knew about. Sakusa was not one of those people. He had no idea, but it didn’t make much difference. With Sakusa, Atsumu only wanted to press further into the touch, not a hint of struggle present within him. 

“Soft,” Sakusa muttered, the single word gently snapping a few synapses in Atsumu’s brain. 

Atsumu was hardly able to force out a small, ‘Thanks, uh. I moisturize,’ 

“Your sides?” Sakusa smirked.

Atsumu's flush somehow managed to intensify as he brought an arm up to cover his face and turned his head to the side, feeling mortified. No, he didn't moisturize his _sides._ That would be weird, right? Or would it? He couldn’t tell, maybe Sakusa would find it respectable. 

“...Yeah?” It came out just as unsure as he was, and Atsumu bit down on the flesh of his forearm as he groaned quietly, his cheeks burning.

Sakusa laughed, really laughed, bringing his hand up to Atsumu’s arm and squeezing. “No, you don’t.”

Peeking out to see Sakusa’s unfettered smile, Atsumu thought the room had gotten much, much warmer.

“Okay, no, I don't.” 

He allowed Sakusa to pull his arm away from his face, watching the remnants of the smile still lingering on his lips. He really was pretty, and it made Atsumu’s heart sing and hurt simultaneously. He still didn’t know how to make sense of anything that was happening, how Sakusa had been the one to ask for it, with his ‘ _I trust you, Atsumu, I want to be with you,'_ how it had replayed in Atsumu’s thoughts and dreams every day and every night since.

“Are you nervous?” he managed.

“Hm...I’m not.” Sakusa’s gaze didn’t waver for a second, serious and completely honest. 

“Why‘m I the one who’s so nervous here?” Atsumu laughed quietly, shaking his head.

For a moment, Sakusa kept quiet, studying Atsumu with a look that said he was really considering his response.

“I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be.” he reached up and took hold of Atsumu’s hand, sighing deeply and closing his eyes. Not a sigh of disappointment, but one of calm, _meant_ to calm. Atsumu eventually mirrored it, taking his first proper breath in ten minutes. Had it been that long? It could have been even longer, probably had been, but who knew? Who cared. 

He exhaled slowly, feeling warmth all throughout his chest. Sakusa wasn't nervous. If Sakusa wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t either. It could be that easy. He brushed his thumb over the top of the hand in his and decided to have some faith in himself.

“Can I hold ya then, Omi?” 

The response was immediate, soft but certain.

“Yes.” 

So he held him. Sakusa was close enough to tuck his face into the crook of Atsumu’s neck and throw a leg over to tangle with his. Everything about it felt good, impossibly comfortable and safe and _right._ Everything smelled like lemongrass and Sakusa Kiyoomi, and nothing so necessary had ever been so effortless.

It was a wonder, he thought as he looked down to find Sakusa’s soft expression with closed eyes, how much warmth two bodies could carry and exchange back and forth just like this. It was a wonder that he had gone all twenty-three years of his life without it, without knowing that it had been inside him all along. That he had all the right pieces to love and be loved. 

He always had, they both had. 

Their breaths fell into sync, quickly forgotten with sleep, and as the last remnants of sunlight faded from the sky, something new began to take shape.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed. I have not been able to get these two out of my mind since October and now it's February and so here we are, with probably even more of them to come!  
> Stay safe, take care. ♡


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